Little Earthquakes
by Scifiroots
Summary: Gil broke a promise. Idea inspired by “Spellbound” and the idea that Greg has premonitions.GilGreg.


Little Earthquakes

_Claim_: CSI Las Vegas – Gil/Greg **Disclaimers apply:** Characters herein (and setting) are property of the show's creators.  
**Prompt**: Denial (fivebyfiction)  
**Word Count**: 2,813  
**Rating**: FRT13  
**Summary: **Gil broke a promise. _(Idea inspired by "Spellbound" and someone's else's fic running with the idea that Greg has premonitions.)_  
**Spoilers!**: Leaving Las Vegas (season seven)

--- + ---

"You going somewhere?"

Startled by the unusual greeting, Gil looked up from making coffee. He raised an eyebrow at Greg. "Excuse me?" Greg's lips turned down in a tense frown. The creases at the corners of his eyes told Gil that his lover had a headache. "Greg, what's going on?" He abandoned the coffee and stepped closer.

Greg shook his head, but didn't shift his gaze. "I... it's just that..." He shrugged in frustration. "You'd tell me if you were leaving, right?" He grimaced, the headache clearly getting worse.

"Of course," Gil replied, reaching out to rub Greg's shoulders. "What's wrong? Did you take any Advil yet?"

"No. I'm serious, Gil, you'd tell me, right?"

Gil had no idea what brought this on. "I know you're serious. I would tell you. Come on, let's have you take something and see if it gets better. How bad is it?"

Finally abandoning his question, Greg groaned softly and closed his eyes. "Like a migraine. Want a Ibuprofen," he mumbled.

--- + ---

Greg worked his case with Warrick quietly, constantly aware of the dull throb in his head. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, the feeling of anxiety shadowing his every move. At the end of the night Warrick followed him into the locker room and asked what happened.

Wincing internally, Greg replied with a question. "Do you think Griss is happy here?"

Warrick cast him a significant look. "You'd know better than me, man."

Shrugging uncomfortably, Greg stared blindly into his locker. "I dunno. Maybe I don't see everything."

"What's going on, Greg?" Warrick asked, tone lower despite the abandoned room.

"Nothing. Never mind."

--- + ---

Weeks later, Warrick recalled the locker room conversation with unease. He watched Catherine coming from Grissom's office with a deep frown. She caught sight of him and headed his direction.

"What's up, Cath?"

She eyed him thoughtfully before speaking. "Did you know Grissom's taking a sabbatical?"

_Do you think Griss is happy here?_

No, Warrick hadn't known. "Does Greg?"

Taken aback she answered, "Why wouldn't he? I mean, Grissom's leaving tomorrow night!" She trailed off uncertainly. "Greg didn't mention anything?"

"No," Warrick confirmed, unsettled.

"Maybe he mentioned something to Nicky," Catherine said, hardly sounding convinced. Warrick shrugged. He needed a few minutes to take this in. After a pause, Catherine nodded and left to find Nick.

Warrick looked back towards Grissom's office with concern.

--- + ---

Greg sat in the locker room. The countdown ran through his head at a dizzying pace. _Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours. Oh shit. Twenty-_... He'd been plagued by killer headaches for the past week, ever since finding out; angry Grissom hadn't told him. It took overhearing a message on the answering machine for the announcement to drop. Greg hadn't been back to Grissom's apartment since their fight.

Grimacing at the pain in his head and chest, he got up to take another dose of Ibuprofen. Someone came in while he had his head in his locker. When he pulled back he saw Sara standing at the next bench, staring at him blankly. Great, just what he needed.

With a tired sigh he asked, "What's up?"

She frowned at him, a flash of betrayal in her eyes. "Why didn't you warn anyone?"

Greg grit his teeth in annoyance. "Maybe I don't know as much as you think I do."

She didn't look convinced. "C'mon Greg, we all know you're sleeping with him." She said it bitterly, like the taste of the words didn't agree with her. Greg bet they didn't.

"Letting a guy fuck you doesn't mean he's going to tell all," he snapped—angry at Sara, at Grissom, and himself.

She stepped back with wide eyes, her lips parted in surprise. Her nose wrinkled after a moment in disgust. Greg swallowed against the sick feeling rising in his throat. Shit, he was not up for confrontations at the moment.

"Well I can certainly see why he finds you attractive," she said acerbically. "That's one hell of a mouth you have."

Greg tasted sour bile in the back of his mouth. He deserved that, he thought. Grissom didn't, though; he didn't deserve either of their comments.

"I don't want to do this right now," he said quietly.

Sara's lips tightened until they turned white. "Right." She turned sharply and stiffly walked away.

In her wake Greg collapsed back onto the bench and dropped his head into his hands. His headache increased exponentially.

_Twenty-four hours. He didn't tell you until he couldn't cancel. Twenty-four hours, and he didn't say anything._

--- + ---

Gil worked on tidying his office, an almost unheard of task. Catherine hadn't returned yet, but he could hardly reprimand her when he would be leaving her in charge. In fact his organization was due to leaving the lab in Catherine's hands. She didn't need to be struggling to sort through his chaos in addition to doing his job.

He picked up the miniature rooms that had played such an unnerving role in the series of recent murders and placed each diorama in a separate plastic carrying case. He thought they would be good examples to share of the oddities one could come across during an investigation.

As he locked the cases his gaze lingered on the bright acrylic blood pools. Something still bother him about the case; it didn't sit well in his gut. All the pieces fit together, though... Everything _made sense_. He'd gone over it with Jim and the rest of his team carefully until they were sure. Ernie was dead, case closed.

_If I could just convince myself of that_.

As he turned back to his desk to shuffle around the now orderly piles of case files, his thoughts drifted to Greg. Their last conversation had concerned his legal case. Greg didn't look too good; Gil knew more than finding a lawyer was on his mind.

He didn't know what to think about their earlier argument. He tried to analyze why he hadn't mentioned anything about his sabbatical until he couldn't possibly avoid it. Hodges found out about his leave at the very end, basically forcing Gil to finally reveal his plans to the rest of the lab. Why hadn't he said something earlier? If not to them, then why not Greg? The disbelief on Greg's face when he'd confronted Gil about the message had stunned him momentarily. He said nothing as Greg alternated between yelling at and pleading with him.

_Why didn't you say anything? You said you would! I _asked you_, damnit!_

That's right. Greg had asked—little more than a month ago. Strange, he'd almost forgotten that. But why did Greg ask back then? Their relationship had been going well, and even with things still tense between Sara and Greg, he hadn't noticed any signs that there'd been a recent face-off.

Gil felt a sharp pang of guilt remembering the past week watching Greg drag through the night, eyes narrowed in pain and expression tight. He knew he'd screwed up big, but he didn't sure what to say, didn't understand his own motives enough to try and explain. He needed this sabbatical to get away from everything for a while.

_But why do you need to get away from Greg?_ part of his mind wondered. He flinched away from that question, unwilling to examine it at the moment. A break would probably do them good. Their relatively new relationship had often been overwhelmingly intense. Greg watched him far longer than Gil had noticed, and the amount of devotion he occasionally saw in his lover's gaze sometimes alarmed him. A month to cool off could do some good.

He looked up in relief when Warrick walked in. He desperately needed a distraction to block out the growing doubt.

--- + ---

Greg stood in the break room with the 'fridge door open, staring blankly inside. He felt completely numb. _One hour_, his mind echoed. One hour? One hour and four weeks. At least. He hadn't missed Nick's comment to Catherine about sabbatical sometimes equating permanent leave.

His stomach turned over uncomfortably. He knew if he tried to eat anything it would come back up in minutes. He shut the door and turned slowly to the sink. Water eased his headaches slightly, just enough change in pressure in his head that he would trade in a cup of coffee for a glass of water.

In the hall he saw Nick passing by, a small grin on his face. So he and Catherine solved their case; good job. He wondered if Catherine had gotten back to the lab. He bet Grissom would want to say goodbye to her. The hole in his chest felt like it expanded. Grissom had been accepting the farewells from the others all night with puzzled tolerance; on occasion he even returned the goodbyes. But he hadn't said it to Greg, and Greg hadn't said it to him.

If he said goodbye, Greg wondered if that meant the official end to their relationship. He might have been the one to walk out of the apartment, but Grissom hadn't asked him back. They hadn't had any non-work related conversation at all since the fight. Greg wondered numbly if it was already over. Then again, Grissom's key remained on his keychain, his stuff hadn't been sitting in front of his locker or left in the hall at his apartment—Things had just been silent.

_Ten minutes_, he realized suddenly. He jolted out of his daze and walked blindly down the hallway, eyes darting around in attempts to catch sight of his lover. Grissom's office proffered only a desk light and a partially opened door—probably for Catherine's convenience. He turned and started in a new direction, mind rushing to come up with where else Grissom might have gone. Maybe last goodbyes?

As he approached the locker room he saw Grissom standing in the doorway, facing inwards and talking quietly. Greg halted abruptly, just within earshot. His heart sank. Grissom was saying goodbye to Sara. No... not quite goodbye...

"I'll miss you."

Greg closed his eyes with a small shudder. He swallowed back the urge to cry out. He wanted to be mad. Unfortunately the grief cut him deeper than the angry part of betrayal. As Greg backed away staring at Grissom, he thought, _Is this why you're going? Need some space before you officially break it off and turn to her?_

He could feel himself start to tremble. Shit. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and tried to calm down. _I thought he loved me_. It hadn't been said, Grissom not the type to say that too early, but Greg hadn't cared because in every other aspect of their relationship he thought he could feel it.

It would hurt less if Grissom made a clean break of it, said it to his face. It would sting deeply, but he wouldn't be devastated—the way he felt right now. He leaned back against a wall and watched from the corner of his eye as Grissom turned from the doorway and continued down the hall away from Greg.

--- + ---

Catherine walked into Grissom's office in silence, moving carefully as if approaching a crime scene. It was unnerving to enter the empty office knowing that he wouldn't be back after a few hours or even days. What had possessed him to take this leave-of-absence? If he wanted to teach, she assumed he could find a nearby location. Why go so far away?

As she turned on the lights she saw a large box sitting atop the desk. With a frown she examined it. The package hadn't been opened, meaning it hadn't arrived until after Grissom left. She looked at the unfamiliar two-lined return address. Its tag simply read "Gil Grissom." Unusual... If Grissom received something at work it either indicated his title and full name or labeled to the lab with an "Attention" notice. Instinct told her something was very, very wrong.

Uneasily she looked around the office. She knew she shouldn't open it. But as one of Grissom's closest friends and it turned out to be harmless, she could close it up and bring it to his place. What if it was something important? Surely it shouldn't wait four weeks... She knew her arguments lacked rationality, but damnit, she'd learned over the years that sometimes guts instincts should be followed.

In the top desk drawer she found a pocket knife. Automatically careful to touch only where she had to, she cut through the tape until the cardboard opened. She pulled back two of the flaps and saw packaging foam covering whatever lay beneath. Reaching in she pulled it out, stopped, and stared. Tucked inside the foam she saw a familiar, flat panel of plastic.

She reached for the phone quickly and hit the speed dial for Jim's cell. When he answered she asked, "Are you still around?"

"Just pulling out of the parking lot." He paused. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to turn around, meet me in Gil's office." She swallowed tightly. "There's another miniature."

He continued cursing as she hung up. She paused, staring at the phone and wondering who else she ought to call in. After a moment she phoned Sara.

"Catherine?" Sara asked hesitantly, probably having recognized the number.

"Hey, we've got a bit of a problem. If you're still in the lab, do me a favor and come to Grissom's office."

Sara agreed without question. The next phone call Catherine didn't have to think about. "Greg," she said as soon as the ringing stopped, "we've got another miniature. If you're not still in the lab I need you to come back."

"What? But I thought we caught the guy."

Forcing herself to ignore what probably lay behind the stress in his voice, Catherine said, "I don't know what's going on, but I need you to come in. It's in Gil's office."

She heard a sharp intake of air. "What? Shit... Yeah, I'll be right back, I'm only a few blocks away."

"Thanks, Greg." She hesitated, wishing she could say more but knew they didn't have the time. "See you soon."

"Yeah. Bye."

Catherine looked back at the box, then turned to another drawer and found a pair of gloves.

--- + ---

Jim joined Catherine, unsurprised that Sara had gotten there first. Catherine had already taken out a few pieces of packing foam. She looked up from handing Sara a pair of gloves and offered another pair to Jim. Her grim expression spoke volumes.

They worked in silence. Jim held the box while Catherine reached inside. Sara cleared a spot on the desk and lay down blank pieces of paper. Catherine met his gaze for a moment before pulling the diorama free and setting it carefully on the desk. He stared at the model with a growing sense of apprehension; the door of the wall closest to him looked disturbingly familiar.

Catherine's hands touched the lid covering and gently pulled it off. He heard her gasp and he bit back a curse. _Shit_. A few dozen other curses flew through his mind as he stared at the miniature layout of Grissom's apartment.

When he looked up he saw Sara's hesitance, as if she had guessed but still sought confirmation. Catherine provided it: "It's Grissom's."

Jim saw his tension reflected in Catherine's tight expression. She'd locked her gaze on the diorama, carefully examining. Somehow Sara had the presence of mind to find a camera and began taking pictures. Jim leaned forward, looking at the haunting details—shadow boxes of butterflies and other insects, book bindings bearing carefully labeled titles, delicately patterned rugs. Fuck. He could have sworn they'd found their man. Had Ernie been working with someone else? Was there someone who knew about what Ernie had been doing? Neither explained targeting Grissom.

Catherine cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Jim," she whispered, stare fixed on the miniature bedroom.

He followed her stare and stopped short. _Fuck_. Carefully detailed tangled sheets decorated the unmade bed. On top of it, a naked body lay face-down, the head turned to one side. The pool of obscene red originated at a deep, gruesome cut under the victim's chin. Catherine quietly directed his attention to the bedroom doorway where another figure stood. Jim choked, immediately recognizing the representation of Grissom. Suddenly certain of the identity of the body on the bed, he looked for the details. The blood pool had distracted him initially and now he could see all too clearly... He wondered if this portended a future to come or if it was meant as a warning..

Catherine's face drained of all color. Sara looked stunned.

Jogging footsteps came down the hall and moments later Sanders stepped through the door. "What have we got?"

At a loss for words, Jim stood blankly staring at the younger man.

Greg stared at them, eyes moving quickly from person to person. "What is it?"

--- End ---

_Edited February 9, 2007_


End file.
